


Breaking Clarke

by Regina_V



Series: The 100's Kink Meme Fills [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Punishment, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Slavery, Step-siblings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regina_V/pseuds/Regina_V
Summary: When Clarke's father, stepmother, and stepsister die in a car crash, Clarke puts herself at the mercy of her angry stepbrother, Bellamy, in order to get him to agree to be her guardian until she turns 18.(Previously titled 'Making Amends' on the kink meme.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is fucking dark. I'm warning you now. If it plays out the way I'm intending it to, there will be lightness at the end of the tunnel (so to speak), but that does not and will not erase the darkness of the journey.

Clarke’s life changes forever the night her father, stepmother, and stepsister die in a car crash. They had been almost home from her stepsister Octavia’s latest audition when Clarke had called and asked them to pick her up from a friend’s house. They never made it to Harper’s house to pick her up. Instead, police showed up at the McIntyre’s house, and Clarke learned they had been hit by a drunk driver on the way over.  
  
Clarke is escorted home by the police where she watches her twenty-one year old stepbrother be told what happened as well. He seems to hold it together long enough for the police to leave for the night. They are told social services will be over in the morning to talk about their options for Clarke, as she’s not even seventeen yet, but if Bellamy’s willing to become her guardian, she should be able to remain at home.  
  
“Please don’t let them take me away, Bellamy,” Clarke pleads, running over to him when they are finally alone, tears streaming down her face. “Please!”  
  
He shoves her out of his way, and Clarke falls to the floor of the living room, not expecting that reaction. “This is your fucking fault, you spoiled goddamn princess!” he screams at her as he walks toward the dining room. Clarke cringes, he’s never yelled at her before. “If you hadn’t asked them to pick you up, if you’d of just taken the bus like you promised, they wouldn’t have even been on the fucking road. I should let them take you as far away as they can so I don’t ever have to see your disgusting face ever again.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I know, I’m so, so sorry, but please, please, please, don’t let them put me in foster care.” She crawls on the floor over to where he’s standing and kneels at his feet. “Please, Bellamy. I don’t wanna leave my home.”   
  
She looks into his eyes and watches them change. Where before they were filled with pain and grief, they quickly become hard and full of something else. Then, her eyes catch his hands as they move at once to the fly of his jeans. He pushes down his pants and his underwear and stands in front of her with his cock jutting out, a couple inches from her head as she kneels before him.  
  
“Prove to me that you want to stay,” he tells her, his voice holding no emotion. “Do this now and promise to do whatever else I ask until you turn eighteen, and I’ll agree to be your guardian.”  
  
Clarke isn’t naive. She knows exactly what he’s demanding of her. It’s akin to slavery, and it’s illegal, and she doesn’t want any part of it. Not like this, anyway. But she is desperate to stay in her home, so she nods and moves her head forward as she opens her mouth to welcome his cock.  
  
She doesn’t actually know what to do once she takes him in her mouth, and a part of her is almost grateful when he takes the control from her. Both of his hands grasp fistfuls of her hair at the back of her head and he forcefully yanks them forward to push her onto his cock. She gags from the sudden intrusion of his cock down her throat, but he doesn’t seem to care. She hears his guttural groan as he holds her head still and after a couple of panicked moments, she feels him begin to pound his cock into her open mouth.  
  
Tears and saliva run down her face, but she doesn’t try to get away. If this is what it takes to stay at home, she’ll do it. She’ll do whatever he says.

This is wrong, she finds herself thinking with Bellamy’s cock down her throat, and she is sure they both know it. But she thinks they both need it too. For separate reasons, they can’t think about their family dying, and this is a fucked up alternative they can both get lost in. Clarke can’t think about what happened tonight, and neither can Bellamy, but they can feel this instead, so Clarke lets it happen.

The thoughts racing through her mind keep her from being a truly active participant in the act, but she doesn’t fight him as he fucks her mouth. Bellamy never lets up on the quick pace he’s set, and he repeatedly forces his cock as deep as he can, engaging her gag reflex, but still, she lets him do it. She doesn’t try to move backwards or crawl away from him; she just focuses on breathing through her nose as she stares up at her stepbrother. Clarke sees the dark, far-away look on his face and recognizes that he’s taking his anger and grief out on her but at the moment, she doesn’t care. She remains kneeling at his feet as he uses her mouth as a toy for his cock.

She panics once more when, after he’s fucked her mouth for what feels like forever, he pushes his cock far down into her throat one final time before he starts coming in her mouth. He eases the pressure on her head after a moment, lost in his own twisted pleasure, and she pulls back a bit, his cock still in her mouth as he finds his release.

Clarke tries her best to swallow what she can, but she can feel his hot seed dribbling down her chin and onto the floor even as he continues to shoot more into her mouth.

When he finishes, he abruptly pushes her away from him, causing more of his cum to slide down her chin and onto the cold tiled dining room floor. Without speaking or moving at all, Clarke watches himself adjust himself and pull his pants back up.

Then he finally speaks to her. “You’re such a disgusting slut,” he hisses at her, his eyes still dark and cold. Clarke just nods in defeat and cries tears of shame and grief. “Look at the mess you’ve made on the floor,” Bellamy continues.

Clarke looks down at the mess of saliva and cum on the tiled dining room floor.

She hears Bellamy pulling out one of the dining room chairs before settling down in it with a deep sigh. “I want you to clean up your mess, while I go over the rules of this agreement,” he tells her.

Clarke’s eyes leave the mess on the floor and meet his, relief spreading through her body that he’s agreed, that he’ll foster her so she can stay. She nods her acceptance of the order and starts to rise from the floor to grab a towel when Bellamy’s voice stops her.

“Use your fucking tongue, you disgusting slut!”

A blush settles over her cheeks, and she wants to beg him not to make her do it, because it’s humiliating, but she knows that’s the point. Not to say anything of the fact that she’s too afraid he’ll take away his agreement and send her away, so she swallows thickly before adjusting her posture over the spilled cum and saliva and begins to lick it up as Bellamy’s voice washes over her.

“You will never speak of this or anything else that happens in this house with anyone. Outwardly, we will present ourselves as grieving stepsiblings who care about each other. No one can suspect anything different is happening within this house, so you will do absolutely everything in your power to not draw attention to yourself. You can still see your friends, and you will still go to school. In fact, you will work hard to ensure your grades stay above reproach, is that understood, slut?”

Clarke’s tongue makes another swipe at the cum on the floor before she briefly moves her head up to look at him and nods. She still hates this. She hates the way he’s humiliating her now, the way he’s talking to her, the way he just used her, and the way she’s sure he’ll continue to use her, but she doesn’t want to be forced to leave. “Yes, Bellamy,” she agrees softly, meeting his eyes before refocusing on her task.

“After what you’ve done, you don’t deserve to have that level of familiarity with me,” he continues, his anger at her more pronounced with every word he speaks. “When we’re alone, you will refer to me as ‘Sir’. You will only speak at all when I give you permission, for that matter.”

He pauses, watching her closely, and she knows he’s waiting for her to do something stupid and disobey already. She just nods her head as she continues to lick at the kitchen tiles, fresh tears falling down her face.

“You are agreeing to be available to me whenever and however I choose. You will not be allowed to wear undergarments unless I pick them out, and you will sleep naked from now on. You are agreeing to let me punish your body for your crime against this family in whatever way I choose, and you are not allowed to gain pleasure from this punishment unless I allow it.” He pauses again, just long enough to let it sink in, and then continues. “That means you will not be allowed to come unless I give you permission, and I wouldn’t fucking bet on that.”

She finishes cleaning up the mess on the floor and resumes kneeling in front of him as he finishes his list of rules. She wonders if he can see how much she hates this—how much she hates him in this moment—or if he can only see how desperate she is to please him so he doesn’t make her leave.

“Is all of that understood, Clarke,” he asks her, his tone deceptively soft, making her shiver, “or do I tell social services tomorrow that I can’t be your guardian?”

She flinches at the threat in his words and takes a shaky breath in before answering, sealing the agreement. “I understand, Sir, and I’ll do everything you want.”

“Good girl,” he says without changing his blank expression. He stands up and looks down at her. “Now clean yourself up and get to bed,” he orders as he walks away from her without looking back, his voice taunting her as he leaves. “Can’t have social services come in the morning and see what a fucking slut you are, can we?”

Clarke continues to kneel on the floor, in front of the spot she’d just licked clean, as she begins to process everything that happened that night. Then, after a couple of minuets, she rises and goes to her bathroom, where she looks at herself in the mirror before she begins to sob.

She cries for her father, for her stepmother and stepsister, for herself and everything she’s lost. She cries for Bellamy and what her unintended actions have turned him into, and she cries for the both of them, hoping beyond hope that there’s a way through this fucked up arrangement they’ve made.

She doesn’t remember showering or going to sleep, but she wakes in her bed the next morning feeling dreadful. After remembering everything that’s happened, she forces herself to get up and go downstairs and face the day ahead of her. Clarke realizes bitterly that her life will never be as it was before, and it breaks her heart. As she makes her way downstairs, she hears voices in the dining room and realizes that the people from social services are already there. 

She freezes halfway down the stairs, fear coursing through her whole body as she worries that maybe Bellamy’s backing out of the deal. Maybe she didn’t please him enough, or maybe he just really can’t bear to look at her after what she caused. Maybe he’s having second thoughts and is going to send her away. Then she hears his voice, surprisingly steady and filled with conviction.

“I think it would be in Clarke’s best interests to remain at home. After this tragedy, it would only be more upsetting to uproot her whole life and place her with unfamiliar people,” she hears him say. “She needs stability and familiarity to get through this, and I can provide that here. I have been living at home while I finish my third year at Ark U, so I see no reason why I can’t become her guardian until she’s eighteen and gains access to the trust her father had put aside for her.”

Relief courses through her at those words, and Clarke is able to breathe more calmly as she continues down the stairs.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, Mr. Blake,” the lady says after a moment of papers rustling, “I just need to make sure Clarke is on board with this plan before we proceed.”

“She’s still sleeping,” Bellamy tells the social worker. “Last night was rough for the both of us, but especially for her.”

There’s something about the way he says that that makes Clarke snort softly to herself as she walks down the short hallway to the dining room. She remembers why it was rough for her, alright.

“It’s okay, Bellamy,” Clarke interrupts softly as she walks into the dining room, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m awake now.” She doesn’t have to fake the rawness of her voice.

Her eyes briefly land on the spot on the floor that she’d taken so much care to lick clean last night, then her eyes dart to Bellamy’s face. She sees his eyes darken for a moment as he realizes what she’s thinking about, but then his expression changes, and he reaches out a hand to her.

She takes it, needing desperately for some comfort in this situation. There’s a softness to the way his hand feels in hers and a reassurance in the feel of his thumb stroking her palm. It causes her to close her eyes and breathe in deeply, nearly relaxing for a moment.

For a moment, she almost believes it’s real. For a moment, she lets herself pretend it is.

The social worker smiles at the two of them, and Clarke imagines she’s thinking they’ll be able to process their grief together and get through this together. Like a family should. Clarke knows she’s probably right…but not in the way she’s imagining.


	2. Chapter 2

The next week and a half go by in a blur. Clarke spends most of it in her room, shutting herself off, trying not to think about the fact that her father is dead. She doesn't want to think that Bellamy is somewhat right; that she played a part in the accident that claimed his life, along with the lives of her stepmother and stepsister.

She doesn't see Bellamy much while he's been planning and organizing the funeral for their family, and she's pretty sure that has been a purposeful decision on his part. Even still, she makes sure to follow all the rules he'd stipulated when they struck their bargain. She doesn't speak to Bellamy when she sees him, only responds when he requires her response, and she makes sure to never use his name—only Sir. She even has forgone undergarments during the day, and all clothes at night, lest he check to make sure she's obeying him.

He hasn't touched her since that first night, but she's pretty certain she's seen his eyes on her in the moments when they have crossed paths. She thinks she should be grateful for this reprieve, but it frightens her more than anything. At any moment, he could pull the rug out from under her to punish her for what she did.

Clarke remembers standing in the hallway after she'd left to go to the bathroom, listening to the social worker tell Bellamy that there was still a way out, if he ever needed it. If being her guardian becomes too overwhelming, or more than he can handle, alternative arrangement could be made for her. It makes her scared to disobey him at all. He could change his mind.

The afternoon of the funeral, Clarke tries to be as unobtrusive as possible as she makes herself lunch. She knows Bellamy's hurting even more than she is, and she doesn't know how to make that better. All she can think to do is to just try as hard as she can to make herself as invisible as she can today.

Bellamy seems to have other plans, however, because he exits his room violently—slamming the door shut and stomping down the hallway—and Clarke winces as she swallows the last of her soup. She puts down her spoon and with a shaky hand, reaches for her glass of water and takes a sip just as he appears in the dining room.

He waits until she puts the glass back down on the table before he speaks. "Go up to my bedroom and take off your clothes. I want you on your knees on the bed with your head facing the wall" he commands her.

Without a word, Clarke nods and gets up from the table to do his bidding. She leaves her dishes at the table and makes her way up the stairs to his bedroom, opening the door with trepidation.

She hasn't been in this room many times in her life. Before her father had married his mother, the room had been a guest bedroom and Clarke had no reason to ever go in it. Then, when Clarke was thirteen, Jake moved Aurora and her children in and this guest bedroom had been given to Bellamy.

Clarke looks around the bedroom and realizes that the room hasn't changed much since he moved in. Bellamy never changed the décor, never personalized the room at all. As a matter of fact, it's so clean, it hardly looks lived in at all, despite the fact that he's lived in it for more than three years. As Clarke strips off her clothes, she finds herself wondering if after so long, Bellamy still thinks of himself as a guest in this house.

She shivers at the chill in the room with her clothes off, but obeys the rest of his instructions and climbs on his bed. She faces the wall and the metal bars of the headboard. She positions herself so her knees are a foot away from his pillows and waits.

After nearly a half hour of silence as she kneels naked on the bed, Clarke begins to wonder if this was what he had in mind when he gave her the order. Was he just trying to torture her? Did he plan on coming to her at all? She couldn't move to find out, though. She would not disobey him. She couldn't.

Fifteen agonizing minuets later, she hears him on the stairs moments before the door to his bedroom opens. She wants to turn around and look at him, but she can't. She wants to speak to him, but she can't do that either.

"Bend over," she hears him say as he begins to take off his clothes. "Ass in the air, spread your legs, and grab hold of the bars of the headboard."

A chill runs through Clarke as his words register but she obeys, adjusting her posture to his demands. The bedroom is still cold—her nipples hardened almost as soon as she'd first taken off her clothes—but her body is hot as she waits for his next move. She hadn't dared to touch herself since walking into Bellamy's room, but she knows she's wet, and that only makes her feel worse at the moment. How could there be a part of her that still wants him when he's treating her like this? Is she really that fucked up?

Clarke forces those thoughts away and swallows hard when she feels the bed dip behind her. She closes her eyes when she feels him touching her body, grabbing hold of her hips to steady himself behind her. She tightens her grip on the metal bars in anticipation and gasps when she feels his cock touch the lips of her pussy.

Her reaction only seems to make him laugh cruelly as he enters her roughly. "I hope you're not expecting me to be gentle, Princess," he sneers coldly. Then, as he forces himself through the hymen she isn't even aware if he knew she had, he continues, "you don't fucking deserve gentle."

Clarke can't help the loud scream that escapes her throat at his brutal intrusion. She can't keep the tears from forming in her eyes either. The fleeting thought of being glad that the position she's in means he can't see her reaction passes through her mind before she is consumed with only the pain of his brutal thrusts. He doesn't pause to let her get used to him. It isn't about her pleasure, after all, she reminds herself.

"What a perfect way for an ungrateful whore like you to lose your precious virginity," Bellamy says cruelly as he slams himself deep into her body repeatedly. "This is exactly what you deserve, don't you agree, slut?"

Clarke sobs as she nods exaggeratedly, giving him what she knows he wants. Her humility. "Yes, sir," she chokes out as he brutally tears apart her once virgin pussy. She feels shame wash over her whole body. "This is what I deserve."

"I'm glad we're in agreement, Princess," Bellamy grunts, his fingernails digging into her skin as he holds tight to her hips, using her body to steady himself as he uses her pussy for his pleasure. "Now take your punishment quietly like the good little cock slut you are."

Clarke sobs and hangs her head. "Yes, sir," she whispers before burying her face in the pillow in front of her to muffle her sobs and screams as much as possible. Soon the only sounds that can be heard in the room are the sounds of her punishment. His heavy breathing as he exerts himself, his balls slapping against her ruined cunt, his grunts and moans as he brutally forces himself into her body, her muffled cries, and the sounds of the four poster bed being put to good use.

She feels his hands on her hips loosen before he moves them down her body until he's grabbed hold of her thighs. He pulls them apart even more and adjusts to bring himself closer to her body, continuing his assault with even more vigor.

The pain from his brutal thrusts slowly subsides as he keeps fucking her, her untrained body finally adjusting to the new demands placed upon it. Clarke keeps her eyes closed as she imagines this all happening for any other reason. She imagines something gentle and loving, the way she always thought her first time was supposed to be. Her body starts to get hot again and she begins to gasp for breath in a way she wasn't before. It's only when she has to fight back a moan that she realizes she's starting to like it.

Shame washes over her once more. He's punishing her because he thinks she was selfish and got their family killed, she forces herself to remember. This isn't what she wanted—or, at least, it isn't _how_ she wanted it—and Clarke knows her body shouldn't like the way Bellamy's using it. But it does. _She_ does. And it makes her sick.

Panic arises then and Clarke realizes she can't let Bellamy know she likes it. He'll use it against her too, and she refuses to give him that as well. She'll give him everything else if he wants it—she'll let him take everything else from her—but not that truth.

She bites her bottom lip in sudden concentration as he shifts his position just slightly, the new angle causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot up her spine. It's supposed to be a punishment; she reminds herself as she fights to keep herself from revealing her body's betrayal to Bellamy.

After what feels like an eternity, he speaks to her again as he continues to punish her pussy. "Tell me again, princess," he grinds out, his voice hard and cruel despite the ecstasy she has been hearing in his moans. "Tell me again," he repeats more forcefully.

She bites her lip hard to keep herself from blurting out words she doesn't want to admit and focuses on trying to determine what he actually want her to say. She thinks back to what he's said to her in this room and tries to make sense of what he wants from her. Fresh tears leak out her eyes even as she says what she knows he wants her to say. "I'm an ungrateful whore and this is what I deserve."

His grip on her thighs tightens painfully. "Again."

Her voice is steadier this time. "I'm an ungrateful whore and this is what I deserve."

He pounds his cock into her cunt even harder. "Scream it for me, slut!"

The tears flow freely as she screams brokenly for him, "I'm an ungrateful whore and this is what I deserve!" and as the words leave her mouth, she feels him begin to release his seed deep within her body with a primal groan. He keeps thrusting inside her as he continues to fill her up with cum, pushing it further into her body.

Clarke holds tightly to the metal bars of the headboard, tears streaming down her face as she feels Bellamy's cum in her previously virgin pussy. This certainly isn't what she'd ever pictured, she finds herself contemplating as the words fall from her lips once more, so quietly she doesn't think Bellamy can hear them. "I'm an ungrateful whore and this is what I deserve," she chokes out unbidden, the words escaping her lips one last time. And she is suddenly so very grateful she made it through this punishment without revealing her newest secret.

As soon as he's fully emptied himself within her body, he pushes himself away from her and climbs off the bed, leaving her gasping and shaking as she continues to kneel for him.

For a moment there is nothing but silence, and Clarke wonders if he's just watching her. Is this what he wanted? Does it please him to see her kneeling on his bed, his cum surely dripping out of her pussy? She breaks out of her thoughts when she hears his voice, marking the end of this punishment. "Get the fuck up and get dressed. We have to leave for the funeral in an hour."

The order given, Clarke finally releases her hold on the metal bars and sits up, still shaking. She doesn't look at him at all as she grabs her clothes and walks to the door. Before she reaches for the handle, she hears him speak again.

"Your clothes are set out for you in your bathroom, but don't even think about bathing or showering."

"Yes, sir," she answers as she leaves, her voice broken…just like her body.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funeral and what comes after.

Clarke looks in her bathroom mirror and fights to gain some semblance of control over her emotions. She takes a couple of deep breaths before giving herself a third once-over, and adjusts her hair for the hundredth time. She's stalling, and she knows it, but her hands are still shaking and she doesn't know if she's ready to face Bellamy yet.

Finally, after looking at the time on her phone display, Clarke bites the bullet and leaves the safety of her en suite bathroom.

She was grateful to see the outfit he'd picked out. The dress is black, of course, and perfectly modest mourning attire. Everything was as one would expect, and she should have known he wouldn't risk this unconventional agreement by exposing her in such a way. What surprised her most of all, really, were the undergarments. She hasn't worn any in nearly two weeks, as per his dictation, and hadn't even considered the possibility of having them.

Tears had pooled in her eyes for a moment, and she had to fight to blink them away before she reached out to touch them. Clarke had been overwhelmed by the feeling of safety she felt when she slid the panties up her legs. It was only after she had them on that she realized how embarrassing it might have been if he hadn't provided them.

As she makes her way down to the front door where she's meeting Bellamy, who is going to take her to the funeral, she is reminded once more of his cum still inside of her pussy, and Clarke instinctively clenches, trying to hold it in and not ruin the panties before she even leaves the house.

When she sees Bellamy, the emotions well up inside of her again, and she has to take a moment to force them down. She does not have the time or space right now to deal with how she is feeling and the contradictory emotions in her head.

Without words, he leads her to his car and she gets in the passenger seat. She doesn't even know where the funeral is being held, or what the service will look like. Bellamy didn't consult her about any of it. Clarke just tries to remain silent, following his orders not to speak unless spoken to when they're alone as best she can. She can still feel his seed inside of her body, though, and it prompts her to blurt out the question she's been holding back.

"I could get pregnant, Sir," she practically whispers, keeping her eyes down on her lap, unable to meet his gaze.

There is a moment of pause before he speaks, and for a moment, Clarke thought he was going to call off their arrangement or something. "You had an IUD implanted last year, didn't you?" he finally asks. "I thought Mom took you a-and O?" She hears the way his voice breaks when he speaks of his mother and sister and it hurts her. She fights the urge to reach out her hand and hold his. He doesn't want her comfort. Not like that anyway, she has to remind herself.

The thoughts are bitter, and she hates herself for them. Clarke swallows and answers him. "Yes. We did get IUDs implanted. I—I'd forgotten about that."

His tone is nonchalant, but Clarke hears the steel edge to his words as well. "Then you should be safe," he concludes. Then after a beat of silence, he continues, "And if you're not, then tough luck, it's nothing less than you'd deserve."

Bellamy doesn't speak again after that, and Clarke spends the rest of the ride wondering if that would make things better or worse. Would her having a baby give him back the family he believes she selfishly took from him? Would he even acknowledge it? Or would he just consider that part of her punishment? Would social services intervene somehow then?

Clarke doesn't recall much of the funeral service and a part of her feels guilty for it, but a part of her is also grateful that she's too preoccupied to deal with everything yet. She worries that when it truly sinks in, she'll shatter on impact, so it's almost a blessing that her mind is making it hard for her to reach that realization.

She remembers sitting next to Bellamy during the service, listening to people speak about her family. She remembers Bellamy getting up to speak for awhile too, and she remembers reaching for his hand when he came back because she saw how badly he was shaking. She remembers the comfort of his touch and the feeling of safety from his nearness. She remembers tears falling down her face as she thought about what she and Bellamy have lost and the fact that they're both orphans now.

Most vividly though, Clarke remembers the shame. The shame of the thoughts that keep invading her mind while she sits in the front row of the church pews, and the shame of the memories that flash in her mind. And more than anything, Clarke feels shame for the way she squirmed in her seat during the service as she felt Bellamy's cum oozing out of her pussy and pooling in her panties.

When the service is over, Clarke feels Bellamy's hand at her back as he escorts her out of the church and back to his car. She's already gathered that he's opted not to have a reception and that the bodies had been cremated already, so she knew this was the end. She swallows the lump in her throat as she walks on shaky legs.

"Clarke!" a breathy voice calls out to her.

Clarke turns to face the blonde who stands up from a seat in the back of the church and quickly makes her way over to the two of them. She tries to force a watery smile. "Harper," she makes herself say. "I'm glad you came."

Clarke feels Bellamy's eyes on her and her friend, but she tries as hard as she can to ignore the feeling of his stare.

Harper's eyes are wet and Clarke can see that she's been crying as well. "I'm so sorry," she says as she pulls Clarke in for a hug. "I don't know what happened that night that made you want to leave, but whatever it was, I'm sorry for what happened, and I want you to know that I'm here for you."

Clarke's eyes widen in panic and they dart around as if looking for someone. She quickly forces herself to shake away the feeling. "It's not your fault," she says honestly as she pulls Harper in for another hug before saying her goodbyes and walking away with Bellamy.

He doesn't say anything to her on the ride back to the house, but she sees the tight way he grips the steering wheel through the waning light of the early evening as he drives them home. Fear and anticipation swirl around in her head and she thinks about what is likely to happen when they reach their home.

She isn't wrong.

"My bedroom," he instructs her, his voice harsh and devoid of all emotion. "Strip off your clothes and bend over the bed with your legs spread apart."

Clarke swallows once before nodding. "Yes, Sir," she says, trying to keep her voice strong as she does his bidding.

Her legs feel shaky as she makes her way to his room, and her breath catches as she takes off the dress and undergarments. Her panties, as she'd suspected, are a mess; but she doesn't expect to get them back after this, so she's not too concerned. She takes a deep breath as she walks her naked body back to his bed and bends over it, her chest resting upon the soft sheets and her legs firmly planted on the ground. He didn't tell her what to do with her hands, so she keeps them at her sides.

When Bellamy enters the room, Clarke instinctively closes her eyes. She hears the door close, and then a pause of silence before the sound of his belt being undone. "Tell me you're sorry, Princess," he commands her, his voice once again hard and unfeeling.

Clarke rushes to obey. "I'm sorry, Sir," she chokes out. "I'm so sorry!" And she is, but she knows that's not going to be enough. She isn't surprised when she hears the sound of the belt moving through the air before the hit lands against her ass. Her eyes fly open and she cries out from the pain. "I'm sorry, Sir," she says again, tears stinging her eyes.

She continues to tell him she's sorry, and Bellamy continues to punish her ass for their loss with his belt. She knows he's in pain and she knows that it is at least partially her fault, so she doesn't fight it. Clarke will let him have this if it makes him feel better. She closes her eyes tightly once more as she breathes slowly in an effort to keep herself calm, but it doesn't take long before the sensations of this punishment overwhelm her.

At one point, he pauses just long enough so demand, "Tell me what you are again, slut!"

Choking on her own tears, she scrambles to stammer out the reply. "I'm an ungrateful whore, and this is what I deserve, sir."

She sobs as the belt repeatedly hits her ass, making no effort to hide how this is affecting her. She knows it's supposed to hurt. She thinks he might make it hurt worse if she held back her reactions from him. The sound of the belt whistling through the air makes her flinch every time, and each time the belt hits her ass with a loud smack that echoes in the room, it seems to be harder than the last time. A couple of times he even aims the belt to hit her across her pussy, making her scream shrilly. After awhile, she feels a sense of deep humiliation course through her when she feels pleasure starting to course through her body after each time the pain registers.

She hates herself then. How is she so fucked up that she can be turned on by this?

"I'm sorry, Sir," she still manages to cry out as the belt comes down hard against her burning ass. Clarke is hiccupping through her sobs, her hands grabbing tightly to the sheets, fisting them as if her life depends on it. She feels her whole body begin to tremble as she tries to focus both on hiding her arousal and keeping herself present and aware enough to answer each smack.

Bellamy doesn't stop hitting her with the belt until her whole ass is on fire and her tears are streaming down her face. By this point, she's saying "I'm sorry, Sir," over and over without stopping instead of after each lick of the belt. Even after he stops, she seems to keep registering the pain, for she continues to speak the words into the otherwise silent room until her brain catches up.

Clarke nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels his hand touch her sore ass. His touch is soft, and that only makes her sob harder. His hand travels lower, and her eyes fly open as her whole body tenses in panic when his fingers reach her pussy.

"You goddamned slut!" he exclaims angrily, a note of surprise detectable in his voice as well. "You're fucking wet."

Her mind is completely blank. She doesn't know how to respond to that except in the way she has been this whole time. "I'm sorry, Sir," she says, her voice beginning to sound hoarse.

There is silence in the bedroom for a second before Clarke hears the sound of clothing being removed. Her mind had been so consumed when he had first entered that she hadn't even realized that he hadn't undressed before whipping her with the belt. He was undressing now, though, and Clarke whimpers at the thought of what comes next.

She gasps when she feels the heat of his body come up against hers. Clarke has to hold back a moan as his cock strokes the entrance of her waiting pussy and tenses her body to keep her position as she fights the urge to push back at him. She is so turned on by what Bellamy has done to her and she hates herself for it. She can't come, she has to remind herself. Not only will he not actually allow her to, but she can't let him take that from her as well.

He enters her slowly and lets out a cruel laugh. "You are sopping wet, you dirty fucking whore."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she chokes out, unable to say anything else.

He thrusts into her at a slow pace a couple of times, just enough that she begins to relax, and then he pulls out of her body.

"This is supposed to be a punishment though, remember, Princess?" he reminds her as he carefully lines up his dick again, but it's not at the entrance of her cunt any longer. Clarke winces as she feels Bellamy push his dick against her asshole. "It's supposed to hurt so you learn your lesson, isn't that right, cock slut?"

She doesn't want to say the words he's requiring, because she knows it is the equivalent of signing her own death warrant. She knows it's basically permission. She cringes as she sobs, but she answers him. "Yes, Sir," she wails before she feels him start to enter her ass. "It's supposed to hurt so I learn my lesson."

Panic courses through Clarke's veins when she feels him push none too gently further into her virgin asshole. She lets out a high pitched sound as her eyes go wide and frenzied, searching the room for an escape from the sudden pain.

She claws at the bed, frantically tearing at the sheets as she tries to get away, but he grips her thighs tightly, pressing down enough to cause pain and hold her in place as he buries himself fully inside of her asshole.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she screams loudly, her voice raw and hoarse, tears blurring her vision once more. The pain is excruciating, despite the fact that he intentionally misled her into thinking he'd fuck her pussy in order to use her wetness to lubricate his dick for this. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.

He moves slowly in and out of her at first, and Clarke suspect it's to make sure she feels every bit of the pain he's inflicting on her. "You deserve every bit of this pain, don't you, Princess?" he taunts her, as if to confirm her thoughts.

Clarke continues to sob as she answers, "Yes, Sir."

"Tell me again what you are, Princess," Bellamy demands.

Clarke sobs from the pain, but still manages to speak. "I'm an ungrateful whore and this is what I deserve."

Hearing that, he groans loudly and then picks up the pace brutally. He slams himself into her previously whipped ass over and over again as fast as he can, making her scream from the pain of it. His balls slap against her still aroused pussy, keeping her in that state of arousal despite the pain.

"Why am I fucking your ass, Princess?" he asks mockingly.

"To teach me a lesson," she gasps out. "Because I deserve it."

He doesn't speak to her again as he continues to fuck her. She stops fighting it and just lets him take what he wants from her. She preys he finds completion before he causes her to break his rules and orgasm herself. She doesn't know why her body enjoys the cruel and brutal way he uses her, and she has a hard time fighting it.

Clarke nearly cries in relief when she feels him start to come inside her torn and well used asshole.

When he pulls out of her, Clarke's legs—which had somehow managed to hold her up the whole time as she had been whipped and fucked bent across the bed—finally give out and she falls to the soft carpet. She gasps for breath and sniffles as she tries to come to grips with all that happened and barely notices Bellamy moving about the room.

He turns out the light and gets into his bed. She feels a pillow being tossed at her. "You'll sleep down there from now on," he says bitterly. "You don't deserve a bed. You have yet to earn it."

Clarke nods obediently into the darkness and hugs the pillow tightly, taking a strange sort of comfort in holding something that smells of Bellamy even as his cum leaks out of her abused asshole.


End file.
